


scar tissue

by robotsdance



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Scars, Soulmarks, cersei lannister/jaime lannister - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:33:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21705277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robotsdance/pseuds/robotsdance
Summary: Brienne’s soulmark is hideous and Jaime doesn’t have one.Jaime doesn’t have a soulmark until he does.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 59
Kudos: 413





	scar tissue

**Author's Note:**

> Super quick soulmark au because I needed a break from the other stuff I’m writing and I have no self control when it comes to the power of the tropes. (I’m about 100 years behind on fic reading so if this has been done a thousand times before I apologize but also this is fanfic so everyone gets to write a version of all the glorious tropes they want right?)

When the twins are born, the grand maester is the one to bring the news to where Tywin Lannister sits in his study.

“A girl and a boy, my lord,” he says when Tywin asks for the news, “Both healthy.”

“And my wife?”

“She is doing well. Resting.”

“Do the children have any marks?” Tywin asks.

“No my lord.”

“Good.”

That will simplify matters. When the time comes he will be able to make suitable matches for his children without having to contend with soulmarks complicating the process. Not to mention he won’t have to spend the years in between trying to keep his children’s marks secret, lest some unworthy person try and forge a match. Tywin will still be following through on his plan to ensure that no less than six different falsehoods about the marks his children bear will find their way across the land. There is no better way to see what a man will do to secure a marriage for their child than to bait them with a soulmark.

Let him see who tries to present their child as a soulmatch in the years to come. Let him see who can not be trusted.

And oh, how they will try to win his favour, to win his children’s favour. The children of those ambitious fools who think Tywin would marry any child of his to someone just because they have the same deformity. Even if his children had been born with soulmarks, he would not consider that a reason for a match. His children will marry well. Soulmarks will not factor into the equation.

He smiles at the thought of those who will think the same as they go about trying to replicate Lannister soulmarks by any means in the hopes of having their own children marry well. Perhaps the falsely marked children will not even know their mark is a lie. That’s how Tywin would do it. Mark the child so young that they grow up believing in the soulmark with their whole being. That way when it is time to introduce them, the child will believe they are meeting their soulmate. That level of conviction and unquestioning devotion to a false promise is invaluable. All the better to make sure the child truly believes.

Tywin wonders how many such fools will come across his children’s path in the coming years. Tywin will have to prepare them for such inevitabilities. Tywin Lannister’s children will not grow up believing themselves destined for anyone. They are unmarked. They will not be unwise enough to believe in soulmarks instead of family. Legacy. These are the things that matter. He will make sure his children know what matters.

He smiles to himself. An heir and a daughter, neither of them tainted by something as trivial as a soulmark. Today is a good day. He picks up his quill to continue what he was doing before he was interrupted with this good news.

Tywin Lannister will go see his children soon.

* * *

Brienne’s soulmark is hideous. She quite hates it most of the time. She is glad her armour hides it from view entirely. Her parent’s soulmarks were beautiful, delicate things meant to be embroidered on fine tapestries and admired for generations. Hers is grotesque. A knot of thick red lines intersecting at odd angles without rhyme or reason in the middle of her too-flat chest. It looks more like a scar than anything else, like someone tried to cut her open with their eyes closed, but her parents swore she was born with it. “Right over your heart!” her father would say she when asked about it as a child, “What good fortune!” So far this has not been the case.

Her septa had other things to say about her. About her body. About her chances of ever being the kind of lady a young man would be pleased to marry. The fact that Brienne had a soulmark was far less important than her ability to adhere to her lessons. And all the lessons in the land would not make her beautiful.

It’s been a long time since she took much comfort in having a soulmark. She knows it’s no guarantee that she will ever meet the person who has the same mark, no guarantee that they aren’t already dead or married to someone else, no guarantee of anything other than she has a mark on her chest. Against her better judgement, there is still part of her that hopes some good will come of it, but she does her best not to dwell on it.

But then she remembers that some good has come of it. She knows part of the reason her father allows her as much freedom as she has is because he wants her to have the opportunity to find her soulmate. He wants her to be herself and experience the world as she wishes to, doubly so as it became clear that bringing suitors to the island was not making anyone happy. He never made any secret of her soulmark the way some did, but he did not spread word of it either. On the occasions she wore a dress that revealed enough of her skin to show the edges of it, people did not recognize it for what it was. She was known for her fondness of the blade, they assumed it was a scar. Another scar or blemish on her scarred and blemished body.

Few believed it was a soulmark, even if she told them it was. She hated having to face their disbelief that someone like her would have one. Why would she? Even then it was abundantly clear that she would not grow into the kind of woman that men choose to love.

*

Brienne looks over at him out of the corner of her eye as he lowers himself into the tub. She doesn’t mean to look at him, but she finds her gaze drawn to him in spite of herself. The soulmarks of highborns are a matter of great secrecy. A family as powerful as the Lannisters would guard any soulmarks as strictly as they guard their fortune, but he shows no concern for anything she might see and it quickly becomes apparent why.

He has no marks. No soulmark at all.

Jaime Lannister is naked before her and his skin is filthy but unmarked.

Thank the gods.

Not that she’d even considered the possibility. She isn’t even considering it now. But it is hard not to wonder what marks a person has when presented with the naked truth of them. She has a soulmark after all, it’s natural to be curious about these things.

*

When she rises to her feet in that bath, stands bare in front of him, it’s obvious he doesn’t register the mark on her chest for what it is. She’s spent enough time with a sword in her hand to have earned enough scars to draw his attention elsewhere if marks on her body are of any interest to him. (She’s aware that her scars are not what he’s focusing on).

Regardless. He makes no mention of it.

Good.

Whatever opinions the Kingslayer has on the matter of soulmarks, she would rather not hear them.

* * *

“It’s not healing properly,” Jaime says, not bothering to try and to keep his frustration from his tone, “It seems clean and does not hurt or itch the way it did, but the discolouring around the scars has not faded.”

“Nor will it,” the maester says, “This is a soulmark.”

“No it isn’t.” Jaime doesn’t have a soulmark. Neither does Cersei. They were born together. There was no need to mark one another to be found.

“It surely is,” the maester says as he continues to inspect his wrist.

“It surely isn’t,” Jaime snaps, yanking his arm away from the man to look at it himself as the maester frowns. It isn’t a soulmark. He doesn’t have a soulmark. What kind of fool mistakes an infected wound for a—

It’s a soulmark.

Jaime is on his feet, looming over the maester before the realization has time to sink in. “If you tell a soul I will personally ensure you acquire a similar injury,” Jaime says, sounding as dangerous as he is capable of.

“Yes my lord.”

“No one must know.”

“Of course.”

The maester continues to be unbothered by Jaime’s threats. Secrecy of soulmarks is as normal as scandal amongst highborns, but Jaime needs him to understand the extent to which he intends to keep this little development to himself.

“Not a word. Not even to my own family. Not my father. Not my sister. Not my brother. No one must know. Tell me you understand.”

A flicker of genuine fear in the maester’s eyes. Finally. He nods, “I understand my lord.”

“Good,” Jaime says, “Now leave.”

*

Jaime paces until the sun is low in the sky. If word gets back to his father that Jaime has a soulmark his father will have sellswords maiming any potential wife Tywin Lannister finds suitable, trying to make a match by any means. Jaime can’t have that.

Jaime sighs. His father wouldn’t even need to send sellswords. A few well-placed ravens would have more women than he cares to imagine coming forward with similar markings, whether by their own hand or by that of an ambitious relative. He might be the Kingslayer, but even so, the hope of being the Lady of Casterly Rock would be enough to cause a lot of harm to a great number of people he has no desire to see hurt.

Or marry.

His father must never find out that Jaime has a soulmark. So his father will never know. It is that simple.

But Cersei… Cersei is another matter.

Because Cersei already knows. Cersei’s known since she first laid eyes on his uncovered stump. Jaime is certain. Cersei knows. She’s known the whole time. Gods, the way her eyes narrowed before she turned away from him, utterly revolted at what she saw beneath the bandages. She knew it was a soulmark but she never said anything about it. She never said anything except to keep it from her sight, so that is what he did.

And his stump is a horrible scarred thing. He does not care for the sight of it either. He also does not care for the pointless weight of his golden hand, but he wears it. Cersei had it made for him, so he wears it, hiding his disfigurement from her.

Hiding his soulmark from her.

Jaime has a soulmark.

And Cersei does not.

*

He puts his golden hand back on. Goes to find Cersei. (She knows. She’s known the whole time.) Cersei is alone in her study. She looks up when he enters. Tells him not now, but later. Tonight.

Tonight.

*

Jaime goes to his bedchambers and removes his golden hand and sets it aside. He will make no effort to conceal his wrist. None. He wants Cersei to see it. His soulmark. Now that he knows what it is, he needs to see Cersei see it.

He needs to know how much of Cersei’s disgust is having to see proof that his soul is not entirely hers written on his skin.

He waits for Cersei to come to him.

*

While he waits he wonders.

If Cersei had been born with a soulmark and he had not, he would have given himself a matching one years ago. Without hesitation. Without question. Whatever marks Cersei had, Jaime would have too. Jaime knows this with certainty. Their father had spent their lifetimes warning them of all the ways people can forge soulmarks, all of the ways people like him will use soulmarks against you, how lucky they were to have none. But if Cersei had been born with one, Jaime would have one too.

But if Cersei had been the one to develop a soulmark now, after all these years, how would he react? Even the thought is a ridiculous notion. He’s never heard of such a thing happening before. You are either born with a soulmark or you are not. Yet, here he sits with a soulmark. Jaime has a soulmark.

Cersei does not.

But if he’d returned to King’s Landing to discover Cersei had a soulmark now… he would… he would…

Jaime does not know what he would do.

*

Cersei comes to him.

“Disgusting thing,” she says, averting her gaze from his wrist the moment she realizes he’s not wearing his hand. She won’t look at it. She won’t look at him, “Cover that hideous thing up.”

“It’s not healing properly,” Jaime lies, “The maester says the discolouring will fade if I give it a chance to—”

Cersei will not hear it. Will not come a step closer to him. Will not touch him. There is no kindness in her. No affection. Nothing.

Nothing until he straps the hand back on.

*

When his golden hand is back in place things are almost as they were. Before. Long before he lost his sword hand.

Cersei tells him all of the things she has said to him countless times before. One soul in two bodies. They were born together, they will die together. Unmarked and already matched from their first breaths.

But Jaime knows Cersei is lying to him.

Jaime has never known this before.

*

And this is how it goes, that night, and in the days that follow:

When his golden hand is in place Cersei still considers him almost whole. Almost hers.

But he is not.

*

Jaime gives no thought to the theoretical person he shares a mark with. Whoever his match is or was, they don’t matter to his current situation. They’re probably long dead in any case, or else one of the any number of people that he has never met and will never meet, if they ever existed at all, but that is not the point.

The point is this:

Jaime has a soulmark and he will not allow it to be used against him or anyone else.

* * *

Brienne’s soulmate is not Jaime. She has seen him naked. He doesn’t have any marks. So he doesn’t have any that match hers. So it’s not Jaime. Just like it wasn’t Renly. Just like it isn’t anyone. It’s not Jaime. It isn’t. She knows this. She knows it’s not Jaime.

She knows. She knows. She knows.

It’s not Jaime.

It’s not.

So when she thinks of him (which she does. Sometimes. At a frequency she’s working very hard not to examine.) she thinks of him as someone who is not and will not ever be her soulmate. That’s all.

Because he’s not her soulmate.

Isn’t it convenient she has seen him so thoroughly.

So she can know for certain.

It’s not Jaime.

* * *

Soulmarks are the very last thing on Jaime’s mind because he’s here in Brienne’s room and they are not dead and it’s too warm (so he says) and she’s taking his tunic off and he’s not entirely sure what’s happening but he sure as fuck knows what he wants to happen so he reaches for the laces of her tunic because he’s here and half-naked and she took off his shirt and he’s pretty sure this is happening and he wants it to happen and so far it seems like Brienne wants it to happen too.

“What are you doing?” Brienne asks.

“Taking your shirt off.”

She brushes his fumbling hand aside and undoes the laces herself before he can doubt her intentions, pulling her tunic off her shoulders revealing the scars the bear left just below her neck and then off her body entirely revealing—

He stares at her for moment and he’s torn between the overwhelming urge to kiss her and the need to take his wretched golden hand off right this fucking instant because oh gods of course of course of fucking course and Brienne is looking at him and he can see the doubt, the insecurity creeping in at his hesitation but then she sees what he’s looking at and he sees the realization strike her as it did him and the very next moment she’s kissing him and oh gods finally they’re kissing he thought they would die long before they got the chance and then Brienne pulls back just long enough to say “show me” and he says “yes” (yes yes yes) and they’re kissing again and again while scrambling at the straps that hold his golden hand in place until it clatters to the floor without ceremony and all the while they’re kissing as he draws her closer with his left hand and kisses her harder and more and then she tugs the leather cuff free from his skin and they stop.

They stop.

They stop because she’s holding his forearm in both of her hands and they’re looking down at his stump. At her chest. At the perfect symmetry of their marks in the firelight.

He never thought… from the moment he found out he had a soulmark he never thought, he never even considered that he might find the person with the same mark but of course. She’d already found him.

Brienne traces her thumb over the thickest scar, the ugliest line of discoloured flesh, the deepest red of the soulmark.

He wants to do the same. To touch her soulmark. To feel her against his skin. The truth of their marks and their histories and their bodies in this moment. He moves his hand from the side of her face down past her neck, wondering if she will stop him.

“Jaime,” she says as she takes her right hand off his stump to hold his hand and he has his answer.

He has his answer until she guides his soulmark to hers with her other hand.

His breath catches at the intimacy of the gesture before the contact even occurs and when it does… when it does…

Jaime traces the entangled paths on her skin with all of the precision his stump allows and Brienne does not mind the clumsiness of his touch in the slightest. She just breathes her encouragement into the narrowing space between them as truth. As love.


End file.
